


Get Hectic Quick

by gloss



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alien Flora & Fauna, M/M, Not Epilogue Compliant, Not Season/Series 08 Compliant, OTP Feels, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Sex Pollen, Shameless Smut, Top Keith (Voltron), We Die Like Fen, instafic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-03
Updated: 2019-06-03
Packaged: 2020-04-06 16:45:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19066603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gloss/pseuds/gloss
Summary: On an alien planet, Keith and Shiro take refuge in a mysterious cave. Sex pollen ensues.





	Get Hectic Quick

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Soulstoned](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Soulstoned/gifts).



> Title from "Remote Control", Beastie Boys.
> 
> Soulstoned, I hope this suits! <3

Inside the cave, it's warmer. The ground is firm and dry, but slightly yielding. Shiro sinks with a sigh and tips his head back; the light from outside picks out his profile, makes his white hair glow a little. The air in here is full of more of those tiny twirling filaments.

"We should be okay in here," he says and opens his eyes to look at Keith.

"You don't know that. How can you possibly know that?" Most people would be soothed by Shiro's reassurance, but Keith can't help it. He paces a little farther into the cave and peers forward. The ground rises slightly, the farther back one might go, but the ceiling seems to remain level. There are warm drafts on his face and that same sweet tinge to the air. 

When Keith returns, Shiro has his suit open around his neck and he's fanning himself.

"How's it feeling?" Keith asks. He tugs off his glove and touches the back of his hand to Shiro's forehead. It feels fine? Not ragingly hot or anything; maybe a little sweaty, but they did just hike several kilometers through slushy cold rain and fight off giant bird-monsters.

"How's what feeling?"

"The whole..." Keith moves his hand vaguely above Shiro's chest. "Mysterious wound and such."

Shiro glances down. "Knitting up well."

"That's the mystery," Keith says. "What about the wound?"

"Had worse."

Keith groans. "Of course you have."

Shiro frowns at that. "I have, that's all. This isn't that bad."

"Yeah, yeah." Keith waves away the little tendril bugs or whatever they are. 

"Keith." Shiro uses his three-stripe commander voice, his recruitment video voice, all firmness and gravity. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing." 

Shiro raises an eyebrow. He doesn't have to say, _I'm waiting_.

"Hold on," Keith says and leans over. The little tendril-filamentous things seem drawn to Shiro; they're gathering around his head and across his torso, slowly swaying in the air currents. Keith braces one hand on the cave wall and brushes the tendrils away with the other. He misjudges, or the ground shifts, something like that, because he tips forward until he's almost splayed atop Shiro. 

Shiro steadies him, cyber hand on Keith's waist.

They stare at each other, so close they're out of focus, for a long time. The little silver bugs drift between and around them. Somewhere, it sounds like wind chimes are playing.

"Easy," Shiro says.

Keith opens his mouth to reply. The tendrils waft over his lips. Everything is sweeter.

"No," Keith finally says. He straddles one of Shiro's thick thighs and tugs open his jacket the rest of the way. The long scratch Shiro got from one of the bird monsters is nearly healed already; tendrils are spread along its length, wiggling. "Don't want easy."

"Keith," Shiro says. There's no firmness this time, just uncertainty, his inflection lifting. "Keith?"

Keith kisses him; Shiro's fingers dig into his hip. The kiss goes long and deep, sloppy with shifts and bumps and adjustments, but it doesn't end, even with Keith fucking his tongue in and out and Shiro lifting his hips to grind against Keith's crotch.

"Something's going on," Shiro says, mouth on Keith's jaw, human hand clutching at Keith's tangled hair. "Something's wrong."

"Nothing's wrong." Desperate for skin-to-skin touch, Keith opens his own suit, flouting every single regulation he never really cared about (and some he did). The filaments thicken the air, brush over his skin, squirm when caught between him and Shiro. "What do you think's wrong?"

"This is—" Shiro shakes his head. "We're not—. Keith!"

Keith's mouth moves down Shiro's throat, across his chest, jumps the wound that's little more than a scar now, and finds one nipple. He looks up at Shiro, eyes narrow in challenge, and skates his teeth over the soft flesh.

"Keith."

Shiro can say his name a thousand, ten thousand, different ways. Keith's heard most of them, but this husky quizzical version is now his favorite. Shiro's shuddering under him, embracing him, gasping a little for breath.

"You feel it, too, right?"

Shiro shakes his head but says, "Yes."

"Then go for it," Keith says. "Keep going for it."

He resettles on Shiro's thigh, shucking his jacket, and opens their flies. Shiro's erection is straining, enormous, under his Garrison-issue briefs. He moans for a second when Keith brushes his knuckles along its length.

"Keith," Shiro says, again and again, and each time the sound's a little more fractured, sweeter and higher. Between sounds, he's kissing Keith's cheek, his ear, anywhere he can reach. "This is wrong, this isn't _right_."

"Man," Keith says as he kicks out one leg to work his pants down. "This is _so_ right."

Shiro swallows. His eyes are dark with need, his cheeks and scar flushed. His pale hair matches the tendrils swirling around them; some cling to the sweat on his skin, lift and wave like marine mysteries.

"I'll stop," Keith continues, lifting his hands in surrender. "I'll go over there and, I don't know, jack myself raw until this passes and you can stay pure and unmolested and —" He frowns, the expression knife-sharp across his face. " _Perfect_."

Licking his lips, Shiro looks like every wet dream Keith has had since the age of fifteen. Swollen lips, flush, spangles of sweat.

"You're mad at me," Shiro finally says.

Keith groans and punches the wall. He's expecting sharp pain, stupid pain, something to make him feel better. What he gets is an explosion of more of the silver tendrils and a rip in the cave wall. Its edges cling to his fist as he draws it back.

"I'm not mad." He stares at his hand, then looks at Shiro. "I'm just. I'm frustrated."

He's so hard his dick's about to rip through his briefs, Shiro's spread out under him, coated in lovely silver, like the filaments are _offering_ him, and what is Keith supposed to do?

"Talk to me," Shiro says.

Keith's laugh is bitter and it scrapes up his chest. "Want to fuck you," he says. "Not talk. For once."

Shiro holds Keith by the hips, gazing up at him, lips slightly parted. "Okay."

"Okay?"

He rocks his hips as reply and his human hand curves around Keith's hip to cup his ass. "Feel like I'm melting," Shiro says, the catch to his voice returning. "Like I'm dissolving and spinning all at the same time. You kiss me, it feels better."

"So I'm the medic," Keith says. He can accept that. He doesn't have to like it.

"No, Keith." Shiro cups his face, the cyber fingers warm against Keith's already flushed skin. "That's how I feel whenever I see you."

Keith looks at him. Opens his mouth. Shakes his head. Shiro smiles back at him and rolls up his hips and cranes forward to kiss him again. This time, he tastes even sweeter, and thrusts into Keith's hand when Keith finally gets his dick out, and the moans he gives out run counterpoint to the wind chimes, wherever they are.

"You're _huge_ ," Keith says and Shiro laughs into his mouth and strokes his ass.

"The better to..." Shiro breaks off. He shrugs, looking suddenly uncertain, even stricken. "You'll fuck me? Please?"

"God," Keith groans. "Yeah, yeah." He wiggles back to peel Shiro's pants down past his knees and off one foot. "Yeah. Yeah."

"And hard?"

He glances up and all the uncertain innocence is gone; Shiro looks wanton as fuck, breathing hard, cupping his balls, presenting himself. His cock is thick and hard, bobbing a little with his heartbeat, the head shining. The silver filaments skim over his body, twist around his hair, and if it feels like they fill the air and tug Keith forward — maybe they do, but it's not as if he needs much encouragement. 

He bats Shiro's hand out of the way to touch the soft taut skin of his testicles, his inner thighs, as he wraps his tongue around the head of Shiro's cock before locking his lips on. Shiro's groan comes from a distance but also nearly from _inside_ Keith. He tastes salty-sweet and so warm, and his fingers scratch aimlessly at Keith's hair. When Keith shifts up to change the angle and push his mouth down, Shiro shouts and the tendrils around them quiver and sing; Keith works his tongue and pushes farther down, until Shiro's dick nudges at his throat and his fingers twist in Keith's hair and all he's saying is Keith's name in a million different tongues.

Arms around his ass, Keith gathers Shiro up, pushing him forward, deeper into his throat, until Shiro's on his knees, fucking Keith's face and crooning. He comes like a hurricane, his back arching, ass cheeks spreading to Keith's incessant fingering. Shiro keeps rocking in and out, dragging his cock down Keith's tongue, moaning. His come is smeared over the bottom half of Keith's face, coating his lips and chin. 

"Lie down," Keith says, thickly. He's tingling all over, each pore yearning for something, his nerves flickering and flashing. He pushes one of Shiro's legs until the knee's bent and the foot flat on the ground. "There you are."

Shiro arches into his touch and holds his bent knee up against his chest. Post-orgasm tremors run over him, through him. "Please."

Keith cups his hand and moves it through the air. He gathers up filaments, then tightens a fist around them. Shiro watches, open-mouthed, his ass displayed, his chest heaving. The tendrils rupture in Keith's grip and run out over his knuckles. It looks, more than anything, like he just came in his own hand. He uses the sweet, sticky fluid to return to fingering Shiro open, slicking him now, working impatiently. He's tight, the ring of skin snug around Keith's knuckles, like they belong there.

"How's it feel?" Keith remembers to ask.

Shiro bears down on Keith's three fingers. "Tingley?"

Keith nods and lines up his cock. He meets Shiro's gaze. "Ready?"

"Keith," Shiro replies, and it's basically a soliloquy and vow, the way he says it, how he looks both debauched and pinched with need. He wraps his leg around Keith's waist and bears him forward. Keith enters him, suddenly; the surprise makes them both yelp, then groan. Shiro works his hips back and forth, up and down, as Keith thrusts deeper until he bottoms out.

"Fuck," Keith says.

"Language," Shiro responds.

"Fucking you," Keith says, "I get to say whatever the fuck I want when my dick's this far up you."

Shiro laughs and nods — that, or his head's bouncing against the wall with each of Keith's thrusts.

Keith rocks halfway out to thrust in again. He's on his hands and knees over Shiro, grinding in, and has to close his eyes so he can gather enough focus to pull himself up, hand braced on the broken wall. His thrusts go deeper now, more sure, and Shiro lifts up to meet them, panting every time Keith's cockhead finds his prostate.

"Touch you?" Shiro asks, cyber hand on Keith's ass. "Can I?"

Grunting, sweat and filaments nearly gluing his eyes shut, Keith nods. "Go for it."

And that's how he does it, thrusting forward into Shiro, then rocking back onto two of Shiro's alchemical fingers, which breach him just right and fill him up so good that he can't breathe. He can't do much but grunt and hope and pour himself _into_ Shiro, then give himself back _around_ Shiro.

He collapses again, wrapping an arm around Shiro's head, clutching him close and kissing him hungrily.

"Come in me," Shiro whispers, spreading his fingers, then tapping at Keith's prostate. "Fill me up, c'mon, Keith. You can do this."

"Fuck," Keith says and grinds in so hard and deep he might just break off his cock. It'd be worth it; he's seeing entire galaxies, his vision washing neon-bright, bright as Shiro's hair. He chases the orgasm like he's dying, groaning, jerking, pushing in and back.

Shiro comes again, his dick rubbing against Keith's stomach, and the convulsions of that squeeze the last pleasure from Keith, until he's coming, deep and hot and _endless_.

Keith can't catch his breath. His entire body is twitching and he tastes cotton-candy and caramel and _Shiro_. He stays inside, mumbles negatively when Shiro goes to withdraw his fingers, and stays where he is, splayed atop Shiro, pinning him down, saving him again and again as he trembles back to consciousness. 

Human arm around Keith's shoulders, Shiro kisses his cheek, his eyelid, the sweaty mess of his hairline. Little affectionate pecks mix with fuller, almost sucking kisses.

"Hey," Keith says a long while later. He's tangled up with Shiro, his dick free (but half-hard, this close to Shiro), his thoughts fuzzy.

Shiro kisses him on the mouth, smiling, then says, "Hey." When Keith starts to draw away, eyebrows knitting, shoulders hunching, Shiro tightens his hold. "Let's do that again. And again."

Startled, Keith barks out a laugh. All his peremptory defensiveness vanishes. "What?"

"Let's do that again."

"Right now?"

"Mmm..." Shiro bites his lip and twitches his hips experimentally. "Soon? And also later."

*

When the rescue pod returns them to the Garrison, Shiro and Keith stumble into the hangar, arms still entwined, Keith's head resting on Shiro's shoulder.

"Why do you two look like you're posing for a prom portrait?" Lance demands.

Keith scowls and Shiro holds up his cyber hand. "We had quite the adventure."

"Look, if no one else is gonna say it," Hunk says, clapping Keith on the shoulder, "I will. Keith, man, you're goddamn _radiant_. What's your secret?"

"Besides the obvious?" Lance asks. He elbows the nearest hangar tech. 

"You're downright _glowing_ , Kogane," Iverson puts in.

Coran hurries up to them, trailing a few lab nerds in white coats. "Congratulations, gentlemen! This is quite the unexpected fiddleydinkaroo!"

His explanation is unintelligible, something about macro-scale lichen colonies and space-borne spores. Sakharo hypha! Unprecedented three-way gamete fusion! Human, Galra, and Sakharo!

"What," Keith says flatly. 

"You'll bud the offspring in approximately ten days," Coran concludes. "Your mother is beside herself with excitement."

Shiro squeezes his hand. Keith leans a little more heavily against him.

"Keith's gonna be a _mommy_ ," Lance singsongs and the only thing that stops Keith from decking him — besides Hunk getting in the way and Shiro restraining him — is the sudden urge to take up knitting.

And blow Shiro, but that one, he's familiar with. The only thing new about that is how it can come true, any minute now, soon as they can get away.


End file.
